Restoring Hope
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: Molly's resolutions were always filled with hope for a brighter future. This year, she isn't making any resolutions except to quit making them. The past year had been hell for her and her friends. Hope breeds eternal misery and all that. Upon finding a mysterious note in her locker at Bart's, telling her to come up to the roof, Molly finds hope from the most unexpected source.


Molly stared down at her journal. The page was blank with the exception of a header that read, 'New Year's Resolutions.' Every year, she made it a point to list at least four small resolutions and one big resolution. After everything that happened this past year, Molly had no idea where to go from here. In all honesty, she no longer cared. This year has been a living hell for her and her friends. No doubt it would just continually get worse. Her mind was made up: her resolution would be to stop making resolutions. Simple. Realistic. There would be no disappointments with nothing to hope for. Hope breeds eternal misery after all.

She took a look at the time on her mobile. It was almost eleven-thirty at night. In a half hour it would be the New Year and the end of her shift. Since she finished her paperwork early, Molly thought she'd grab the crisps she had in her locker as a reward for her hard work. From the sound her stomach made, it was probably a good call.

Upon entering the locker room, Molly noticed a note taped to hers. When she moved closer, she clearly saw her name written so neatly. Despite the unusually clear penmanship, Molly knew it was from Sherlock. He probably wanted more body parts. Or he wanted her to stay late to help with an experiment. With a sigh, she unfolded the note.

**Molly,**

** Please come up to the roof as soon as possible. It's urgent that you do.**

**Sherlock**

No beating around the bush it seemed. It was just as straightforward as his attempt to make her say 'I love you.' She considered ignoring it, but she had nothing else to do. Molly grabbed her crisps and headed for the roof. This had better be good.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was worried. The reason for his worries? Molly. That phone call had done her in despite the face she now knew he had meant it. She retreated into herself, the light in her eyes snuffed out completely. He had watched that light slowly die from the time they lost Mary, to his near overdoes and murder, to the torturous phone call.

The Molly he knew was gone. All that was left was a broken woman who was in so much pain. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to help piece her back together. That was a bit difficult to do since she never wanted to talk about it. He knew she wouldn't let him, but damn it, he had to try. Whether she'd admit it or not, she needed him.

"Sherlock, I've no idea what's so urgent, but I—" Molly stopped short, taking in the scene. Fairy lights had been strung all around. A thick blanket was laid out with pillow cushioning it. A bottle of champagne sat on the ground beside two champagne flutes. No one had ever done anything like this for her before, but her bitterness got the better of her. "What's all this for?"

Sherlock flashed her a sweet smile. "I thought we'd watch the fireworks together."

"My shift isn't over," she told him, closing herself off again.

"Oh, come on, "Sherlock pleaded, "the dead can wait another day."

Molly considered his offer for a moment. "Look, Sherlock, this is really sweet of you, but I'm in no mood to celebrate."

He hoped what he said next would get things rolling. "Why not?" Her face twisted in anger. Yep, that did it.

"Because!" she shouted. "There is nothing to celebrate! Mary's gone, I nearly lost you to drugs and then a serial killer, and that blood phone call tore us apart!" She was trying to blink back tears. "I am so angry all the time! I'm angry with the world, with God, with myself! I'm angry with you, but I don't want to be, cause I'm in love with you, you bastard!"

Tears were streaming down her face, red from her outburst. Sobs wracked her body, her hands covering her face. "I'm sorry, oh God, I'm so sorry." Sherlock's arms enveloped her, pressing her small form against him. He stroked the back of her head with his gloved hand, keeping her held tight. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," she cried again. "I didn't mean to shout at you."

"Shhh, it's okay, Molly," he told her. "You needed to get it out." This made her realise he wasn't fazed by her emotional breakdown. In fact, knowing Sherlock, this was exactly what he intended to happen. She had refused to talk about her pain with anyone, and of all people, it was Sherlock Holmes that cared enough to break the dam. The man who once abhorred emotions wanted her to stop bottling hers up.

She hadn't a clue how long she stood there, wrapped up in his arms. There was nowhere else she'd rather be. "Thank you," she told him. "I,"—she laughed softly—"really needed that."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I know. You need to let me take care of you sometimes. God knows you've done so much for me…more than I deserve. You don't always have to take care of everybody else. You have to take care of yourself too."

"You sound like a therapist," she remarked, her voice muffled from pressing her face into his chest.

He chuckled softly. "Yeah, well, it seems my therapist is rubbing off on me. I'm surprised you didn't wake everyone in the morgue with your shouting."

That's what did it. They were both laughing rather hard. Molly snorted, causing them to laugh harder than before. Her belly ached from it all in the best way. God, it felt good to laugh again. "It wasn't even that funny," she said, hardly able to get enough breath behind her words.

Once their laughter subsided, Sherlock led her over to the seating area. He popped open the bottle of champagne, the cork flying right off the roof.

"Someone's going to have a headache if that hit them," Molly gasped, shocked and amused all at once. She took the filled flute offered to her. When he poured his own, they clinked them together, both taking a sip.

"What's your resolution, Molly? I know you make them every year," Sherlock asked, genuinely curious.

"I made a resolution to stop making resolutions," she replied. "I didn't want to hope for anything just to be disappointed again. My motto the past few months has been that hope breeds eternal misery." She turned to face him. "I think we should just make a pact instead."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked in curiosity. "What kind of pact?"

"To just go for it—whatever we want to do, whoever we want to be with—we'll just give it all we've got. What do you want, Sherlock, more than anything in this world?" She may or may not have noticed him scoot closer to her.

His answer slipped right out, his voice smooth as whisky, no hesitations. "I want you, Molly." He brushed back a loose strand of hair. "I want—I'd just like—sod it all." Just like that, his lips captured hers in a delightful dance. Molly welcomed him as easily as it was to breathe. It was as if he was breathing life back into her with just the touch of his warm, all-encompassing lips. And, oh God, the taste of him burned her tongue in the best way. She leaned back slowly as he pressed forward, her arm outstretched to keep from spilling her glass. Both of his arms were around her now, holding her so gently. She hummed against his lips, unable to keep herself from being vocal.

The snogging didn't stop until the first burst of fireworks startled them. They laughed as they kissed, no longer caring about the fireworks in the sky, but the fireworks they were creating. Setting the glass aside, Molly tugged him closer by the lapels of his coat, wrapping one of her legs around his waist. She didn't ever want it to stop. "I love you—oh, Sherlock, I love you so much."

"Mmmm," he sounded as his tongue mingled with hers once more. Sherlock pulled away only to trail kisses down her neck. "I love you too, Molly," he spoke lowly, tracing her skin with his tongue. "So very much." The firework finale began, one popping right after the other. Sherlock lifted himself up on his arms, looking down at the woman he loved, the sparkle alive in her eyes once again. "Happy New Year, my darling." And he sealed it with a soft kiss, full of promises and hope for the future.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I wish y'all a very happy new year! I will immediately go back to working on The Adventures of Philip Anderson and You Remind Me of Home lol!


End file.
